


Of Nests and Nightingales

by Erazon



Series: Prompt Weeks [5]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, TTS Gen Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erazon/pseuds/Erazon
Summary: Mirages that pose as Mothers, Fathers that lay burdens on their children, and Parents who get it right.A collection of TTS Gen Week posts.
Relationships: Angry | Keira & Red | Catalina & Lance Strongbow, Captain of Corona's Guard & Cassandra (Disney), Edmund & Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider, Gothel & Rapunzel (Disney), Queen Arianna of Corona & Rapunzel (Disney)
Series: Prompt Weeks [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849057
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	1. Celebrations / Sunset / Mirror

Rapunzel + Arianna

_My dear reflection dawns on me_

_With honey twine hair and golden smile_

_Embraced by the sun’s zenith_

_And my arms_

_My dear reflection sets on me_

_Plucked by envious, hungry fingers_

_Stolen under the moon’s eye_

_And my nose_

* * *

The carriage rolls steadily over the worn path and Rapunzel all but hangs out of the window, taking in the stunning views of the great Antipean lakes and surrounding meadows. The ground is splattered with brilliant yellow wildflowers, and every other tree they pass is a jacaranda adorned with soft purple bouquets. Her mother’s home country is far more quiet than the busy trade haven that is Corona, but it has a peaceful charm. Rapunzel can imagine herself living here in another life where she isn’t a Coronan princess, settling down in a countryside cottage to spend her days painting the beautiful scenery.

“They say there’s a monster living in the bottom of the Goldfield basin, and to stop him from gobbling up children every month the people will send out a big feast to float out onto the lake,” Arianna says, watching Rapunzel with mirth dancing in her eyes as she pulls herself back inside the carriage.

“I’m sure the fish love that,” Rapunzel grins back. “How long until we get to Morre?”

“From here it’s about an hour,” Arianna answers, and Rapunzel vibrates in her seat.

“I’m so excited to meet your brother!”

“Don’t get _too_ excited, Everett’s really quite boring in person, but I suppose when you’re running a kingdom, boring’s a good thing,” she says.

“Right,” Rapunzel agrees with far less enthusiasm, and returns to the window. Arianna’s smile drops, and she hesitates before turning towards her own window. 

It never escapes her that her daughter never had a childhood. The years when she and Willow had grown up together, free of the responsibilities of rulership, had been some of the best years of her life. There are times when she’s still envious of Willow’s equally thrilling and lackadaisical lifestyle, but she contents herself with the time she did have in her youth to indulge in that kind of reckless behaviour, even if she cringes at how dangerous it had been in hindsight. But Rapunzel never had such freedom, and the broken bones resulting from childish miscalculations don’t mend so easily as an adult.

Nevertheless, this short break from Corona is a much needed one for both of them, and she plans to make the most of their escape from the palace, even if it means dealing with her dullard of an older brother. She can barely remember… well, it’s been a long time since she and Rapunzel had a chance to spend any mother-daughter time together, and she knows that despite everything, Rapunzel still feels that itch to escape the Coronan walls every now and again.

“I think I see the castle in the distance!” Rapunzel perks up, and Arianna smiles as she leans over to look out of Rapunzel’s side. The peak of the highest spire looms in the distance, surrounded by a mosaic of green and orange forest.

“That’s where I grew up. It’s weird to finally be back,” Arianna admits.

“I can’t wait to see it all,” Rapunzel replies, her grin returning in earnest. Arianna’s smile softens as she pulls her gaze away from the distant castle to settle on her daughter.

“And I can’t wait to share it with you.”


	2. Nature / Laughter / Shine

Lance + Kiera + Catalina

_Two_

_Girls_

_Find refuge here,_

_Cradled in cedar limbs,_

_Gnarled and notched as they are,_

_Smelling of earth and sap,_

_Surrounded by leaves;_

_their kith and kin._

_This will always_

_Remain their_

_Home and_

_Heart_

* * *

Living in a treehouse is wonderful and whimsical, and although it may not be a palace or a cosy little cottage in New Old Corona, the renovations they had made to it make treetop living a breeze. There are a few downsides, though; they share the canopy with a lot of bugs, critters and _spiders_ , and Lance is usually stuck on pest control duty. Kiera and Catalina find the neighbouring squirrels amusing, but it’s not so fun when they break into the kitchen pantry and ransack all the food or run all over the roof at night.

In the corner of the kitchen Lance hears the trashcan rattle, accompanied by sounds of screeching and scratching, and he resigns himself to another ordeal of trying to remove a very angry animal. However, when he lifts the lid, he finds an unfamiliar, scraggly creature hissing up at him. Well, that’s a new one.

“Is it a racoon?” Catalina peeks around him, and gasps when she sees their new visitor. Staring up at them with beady black eyes is an opossum, which is nursing a very injured leg by the look of things.

“How did he even get in here? Aren’t possums native to Bayangor?” Kiera says, peeking around his other side.

“He must have come a long way from home,” Catalina frowns.

“And look at his leg!” Kiera adds. “Can we keep him? _Please?_ ”

“Girls, that’s a wild animal, not a pet,” Lance says, dreading the incoming puppy-dog eyes he knows are coming.

“But _Dad_ ,” Catalina whines, “he’s hurt! We can’t just let him back out into the wild. He’ll _die_.”

Lance stares at their twin, pleading expressions and sighs. There’s no getting out of this one.

“We’ll take care of him until his leg heals, but then we let him go once he’s better,” he says, delaying _that_ argument for later.

“What should we name him?” Catalina asks, already winning over the possum’s trust by extending a carrot into his nest in the bottom of the trash can.

“How about Scratchy?” Kiera suggests, and Catalina frowns.

“That’s not really very original. What about _Marquess av Morket_?”

“What kind of a name is that?”

“A distinguished one!”

“Girls, girls- let’s cool it for a second,” Lance intervenes, and the two of them cross their arms and pout. The possum screeches as he steals their attention away, and he shoots it a stern glare. So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?

“I think we should call him Stinky,” he says, and Keira and Catalina giggle.

“How about… Arnwaldo?” Kiera suggests, and Catalina breaks into full laughter.

“You are not calling him Arnwaldo,” Lance protests, but there’s no stopping them now.

“You like that name, don’t you, Arnwaldo?” Catalina coos as she tenderly pulls Arnwaldo from the bottom of the bin, careful not to rouse his injured leg. Arnwaldo chitters in agreement.

And so their little family grows by one, at least for the time being. Arnwaldo allows Kiera to splint and bandage his leg, and Lance is sure he’s not going anywhere any time soon.


	3. Protection / Rain / Triumph

Zhan Tiri + Alphecca (OC)

_Take cover under my wing_

_From the cinderfall of your flesh,_

_You are triumphant_

_And I will never let you forget that._

_Now rise, you beautiful creature_

_And take your wake of bones with you,_

_You are their eidolon;_

_I’m so proud of what you’ve become._

* * *

Alphecca inhales fresh air for the final time as the procession begins, and readies herself for what is to come. They lay a crown of roses on her head, and a wreath of bellflowers at her feet. Embers land on delicate eyelashes, which close to the blackening sky.

When they next open, the sky is red.

She stands on the corpse of the village of Vüjur as the smoke clears from the air and gives way to morning blue, and she surveys the apocalypse around her. The mead hall is gone. The goat pen is gone. Her _home_ is gone, scoured from the landscape as if it had never stood there at all. She toes at the ashes on the ground. Good riddance.

Zhan Tiri stands beside her, appearing from thin air as she always does, unruffled by the surrounding detritus of destruction.

“Do you think anyone survived?” Alphecca asks, looking up to her. Her tutor appears bored, despite having just born witness to the culmination of all their efforts over the past few months.

“Does it matter?” Zhan Tiri drawls.

No, it doesn’t, but— well, she’s curious. How _could_ anyone survive? She knows how it feels to have your throat tighten with smoke, as the last wisps of clean air choke out. It’s not something _she_ survived, yet at the same time it’s hard to imagine that she had snuffed them all out.

“Don’t pity them, Alphecca. They had their chance to do the right thing, and they squandered it.”

“I don’t,” she insists. “It’s just- what now?”

“ _What now?_ Why, now you get to _live_ ,” Zhan Tiri smiles at her. Alphecca struggles to smile back, but not for any lack of enthusiasm. Rather, she finds that the skin she needs to pull at muscles which pull away from teeth aren’t there anymore. It’s only then that the shock of her new state sets in. Her body is gone, leaving only its skeleton behind, bound together through the green strings of Zhan Tiri’s magic. Her white bones are mottled by the charcoal she’d been rolling in, yet they’re cleaner than those of any beast she’d ever slaughtered.

“Right, we’ll have to work on your physical form,” Zhan Tiri says, as if noticing her new shape for the first time herself. “You’ll need to learn illusory magic if you want something… meatier, but not to worry. You’ve got all the time in the world, now.”

“Right,” Alphecca echoes. She wants to laugh, cry, or even scream— but the need to do all at once is overwhelming, and bottlenecks in her throat. And yet the familiarity of _emotion_ comes as a comfort, at least, to know that she hasn’t been robbed of that much.

“Come, my child. There’s no reason for us to stay in this place,” Zhan Tiri beckons her over, and Alphecca slides her fragmented hand into her whole one, and allows her tutor to lead her away, leaving nothing left of Vüjur but footprints in the dust.

“It’s time for your life to finally begin.” 


	4. Exploration / Trust / Flower

Gothel + Rapunzel

_There is more in you_

_Hidden deep inside_

_A power unbeknown_

_That I won’t let you find_

_Tear your eyes away_

_Away from the sky_

_All you need is here_

_And you must never fly_

_Must never fly_

* * *

“Rapunzel dear, I’m heading off again— I’ll only be gone for one night, but I expect this place to be spotless when I return,” Mother says, and Rapunzel readies herself by the window to help assist her mother down.

“Yes, mother,” she assents, and Mother pats her on the head as she gathers her hair and climbs over the windowsill. In a short amount of time she’s lowered down to the ground and waving her farewell, and Rapunzel returns the gesture with a warm smile. As soon as her mother is out of sight, Pascal peeks out from behind the curtain and chirps.

“Another night to ourselves,” she says, and scoops him up onto her shoulder.

It’s on these quiet nights, when Mother slips away into the unknown, outside world, that Rapunzel lets herself dare to question, as if her mother’s absence makes such thoughts any safer. She questions if the world is really as scary as Mother says it is, seeing as she can go outside whenever she wants. She questions why she had to be the one born with magic hair, and if she’s really the only one out there with healing powers. And she doesn’t doubt that Mother loves her, but sometimes she questions if Mother doesn’t really loves _herself_ most— and she thinks she knows the answer.

Mother doesn’t talk about her past; she doesn’t talk about her mother or father, and refuses to tell Rapunzel anything about _her_ father. It must be traumatic, Rapunzel assumes, for Mother to block so much of it out. Every time she’d ever asked, she had been tense and evasive at best, and Rapunzel had quickly learned to avoid such topics.

It’s just so… so _sad_. She wishes Mother would know that she can tell her anything— maybe it would help her to share it with someone else. And she must be lonely, to have to leave her family for whatever reason. Rapunzel knows that _she_ feels lonely with just Mother and Pascal for company, and she’s only ever known life with the two of them; she can only imagine how hard it must be for Mother to have a rich life surrounded by friends and family, only to have had to escape it for a life with only the two of them up in this tower.

She’s sure that whatever Mother is dealing with must be difficult. But, Rapunzel thinks, it’s difficult for her too. She thinks that, maybe together, they could face whatever past demons tormented her mother— and that maybe there’s a way for Mother to reconcile with her family or whoever it is that she’s hiding from. Maybe the world won’t be so scary if they face it together.

However, Rapunzel knows better than to suggest it; Mother won’t want to hear it.

Nestled under the cover of the stars and her blankets, Rapunzel blinks back tears before Pascal can see them fall. Somewhere deep down, she knows that between her daughter and herself, Mother will always choose herself. She tries to pretend that it doesn’t bother her, but Mother’s absence always stokes the loneliness, leaving her lying in bed with an aching heart as she can’t help but _dwell_ on these things.

She expels a heavy sigh, and forces those thoughts aside. Maybe things can still change. Maybe when she’s eighteen Mother will see that she’s mature enough to go outside, and they can finally face the world together.


	5. Letter / Warmth / Breath

Cassandra + Cap

_Stories stain your elusive pages_

_Written in blackberry, smoke, rosemary and ambergris;_

_You share your sorrows with me_

_In between the lines of all your words left unsaid._

_I lose you in your tales of obscure lands_

_Of winding cities and thrumming forests and tranquil roads;_

_You breathe a sigh of relief_

_To finally live the life I couldn’t give you._

* * *

Elliot Chevalier had always taken Cassandra’s ambition to work under him as a Guard for granted. It was one of life's certainties; just as the sun rose into the sky every morning, Cassandra would be out on the training fields first thing, practicing her drills. However, she had duties in the castle as well, and he wanted her to prioritise the work she _did_ have first. The last thing he needed was a nepotism scandal, so he’d held her to a higher standard than he did the usual recruits— knowing that _one day_ , her time would come and she’d prove herself above and beyond ready.

That day _had_ come eventually, but by then it had been too late.

Now, he keeps every letter that makes its way to him, delivered from the tip of Cassandra’s pen in a kingdom far away right to his front door in Corona. Though her messages are infrequent, he’s glad to receive them at all. For one thing, they’re an assurance that she’s still alive— he knows she can take care of herself, but it’s still nice to get confirmation. For another, it’s enough just to know that despite everything, she’s doing okay. Better, even. In the great wide beyond the only person she has to answer to is herself, and there’s nobody holding her back this time.

The latest letter is sealed with a blotch of wax, which he gently pries off with a chipped fingernail and unfolds as delicately as he can, lest it survive the entire journey only to tear in his hands here.

_“Hey Dad,_

_Sorry I haven’t written in a while. How are things back home? We just arrived in Dovena, and we might be stuck here for a while because it’s flood season and most of the roads are closed. I’ve been helping out with repairs around the place, but there’s not a lot I can do about all the water, so we’ll be heading to Tikaani next._

_I hope you’re doing well._

_— Cass”_

Neither of them had ever been particularly good wordsmiths, and she’d taken after his brevity for the sake of efficiency. His moustache twitches with the ghost of a smile; at least some things never change. By his guess, she’s probably already in Tikaani by now; the cross-continental postal system isn’t what he’d call the height of efficiency, and she’d probably written the letter a month ago at the very least.

He’ll write up his response later tonight— he’s sure she’ll be happy to know that everything in Corona is boring without her around, and that she’s certainly not missing out on anything by being gone (Stan and Pete’s eldritch macramé misadventure notwithstanding). Still, he hopes that despite the monotony and the past, well, _everything_ , that something will bring her back here eventually. He’d never urge her to abandon her journey to come home, but he’s strong enough to admit that he misses her.

But the world out there needs her as much as she needs it, and he hopes it can give her everything he couldn’t.


	6. Loyalty / Music / Ocean

Eugene + Edmund

_ancient eyes line ancient halls_

_and ancient tradition begets_

_ancient answers to ancient calls_

_We set our sails to a different tune;_

_Our future has never been so bright_

* * *

As it turns out, Eugene has a lot to learn about the Dark Kingdom— Skoteiníyi, as it’s known in its mother tongue. His kingdom (and it’s still bewildering to think of it as _his_ kingdom) had a rich culture and history before its diaspora, and it’s rapidly fading from the world’s memory. As an orphan in Vardaros, he hadn’t thought much about his place in the world other than his literal place in the shadows of a back alley street, and he hadn’t thought much about his identity other than his persona of Flynn Rider. Now though, he wants to learn everything Adira and Quirin and Edmund can tell him about the cuisine and fashion and festivals of their people, to be able to root himself in an identity that belongs to him and he belongs to in turn.

Yet burden, he learns, is also a part of his heritage. His ancestors had all chained their souls to their statutes, should their descendants ever call upon them for assistance, and their bloodline swore itself to the service of the moonstone with an oath written in ink and bound in blood. The ancient Sokteiní philosophers had proclaimed that the duty of the Monarchy was to carry the weight of the kingdom’s burdens— to be the ass of the people, so to speak. Which makes the Brotherhood, a knighthood of civilians who choose to take this burden upon themselves to assist their rulers, honorary asses. There’s a reason why their number is so small.

Edmund is both eager and evasive when it comes to talking about his kingdom; he’s happy to share long tangents about the Skoteiní zodiac or the teachings of the ancient philosophers, but less so about anything to do with more… recent events. After dodging a hinted question about his mother’s family to talk about the local fungus, Eugene eventually decides a more direct approach is necessary.

“Dad, when everyone left the Dark Kingdom… where did they _go?_ ” he asks one night, as they share dinner together while Rapunzel is off with her parents. 

“What do you mean, son?” Edmund responds without slowing the severing of his roast lamb.

“Well, you can’t have sent them _all_ to an orphanage,” Eugene says. “And I know Quirin ended up in Corona and Hector holed up in a tree and Adira went, well, everywhere. But what about everyone else, all the families and dark pub thugs and dark Feldspars?”

“I’m not sure I catch your drift,” Edmund furrows his thick brows.

“Your people- _our_ people- where are they now?”

Eugene watches as Edmund’s broad shoulders sag, and he finally lowers his cutlery.

“Well, they’re out in the world beyond, I imagine. I mean- you know Quirin, right? He made it all the way to Corona. A lot of our ships were directed south towards Zaria and Yuwabe, though most people travelled by foot through Blavenia,” he answers, pulling at the threads of his memory.

“Do they know the moonstone is gone, now? Should somebody go tell them?” Eugene pushes.

“There’s no need to go looking for them, son. They have new lives now, and Skoteiníyi needs a lot of work before it’s ready to welcome its people back.”

They hold that thought in silence for a moment, but Eugene watches his father continue to frown into his meal and sets down his own cutlery.

“What aren’t you telling me, Dad?”

“Eugene, I’m the King, which makes you the prince-“

“I realise.”

“which means that you would need to- well. You see, the politics- and- maybe your mother could have explained it better,” he sighs. “Some things are just better left behind.”

Eugene fights the urge to land his face in his palm and Edmund sighs so heavily that the ends of his moustache flare.

“Eugene, when I sent you away, I knew that I was making the decision to end the Skoteiní Monarchy. Being a King in our kingdom means anchoring your soul to our stone idols, as I and all your ancestors have done, to take on our responsibility to our kingdom in the afterlife. It means being the captain who sinks with his ship even after all the passengers flee to safety. It means sacrifice, son, and I chose to sacrifice your future as a King so that you would have a future as your own person.”

“But what about all the people that need you, a leader, _now?_ ” Eugene insists, and Edmund meets his gaze with a sharp clarity that he hasn’t seen from him since the day they first met.

“They’ll need you, too. But are you willing to sacrifice your life here, for them?”

Eugene hesitates.

“Your- our traditions can change, Dad. After all, what good is the mumbo jumbo philosophy of some old guy now? It obviously didn’t help,” Eugene points out, which earns a chuckle from Edmund.

“Perhaps,” he admits, with a turn of his lips.

“I’m sure I don’t need to commit to becoming a ghost statue to help anyone, and I- we’ll figure something out. Why can’t the Dark Kingdom have a bright future, right?”

Edmund returns to his dinner, and there’s no telling if he’s mulling the thought over or if it’s skipped his mind completely.

“Perhaps,” he echoes.


	7. Free Day: Recovery / Garden / Secret

Cassandra + Helen

_The carnations bloom in your hand,_

_They stem from your fingertips,_

_They root in your heart,_

_They wither in your eyes._

_Our hands claw the topsoil down to the grave,_

_Blackened and noisome,_

_You sow a new seed,_

_And I reap mine._

* * *

Eltaire quickly becomes one of Cassandra’s mandatory stops whenever she travels, despite the difficult road. She’s always happy to accompany Ilione on the short trip out of Corona whenever she plans to visit her parents, because, well- they’re her family too. Helen and Micah are always inviting, and visiting the peaceful, isolated community sets her at ease in a way the busy thrum of Corona Isle never allows. However, she’s still never one to stay idle for too long, and the routine of working alongside her aunt in the orchards scratches that itch if only temporarily.

“Easy, now- don’t hurt yourself,” Helen warns, and Cassandra grunts as she drops a terracotta pot in front of her. The sapling anchored to it sways with the effort, and Helen clicks her tongue as she takes a leaf in hand and takes a closer look.

“This one’s gonna need some work.”

“How can you tell?” Cassandra asks, stealing a glass of water; she’d been moving pots and hammering fenceposts and digging holes all morning, and fatigue settles in alongside the heat of the midday sun.

“Look at these yellow spots on the leaves, and here- this black spot on the branch. That’s a sure sign of black rot,” Helen explains, gently running her hands over the wiry branches. “We’ll need to cut it off.”

Cassandra’s right hand twitches.

“You can save it though, right?”

“Of course. Just a bit of pruning and tender love and care, and it’ll be good as new. We’ve got to keep it away from the others, though, or it could spread.”

Cassandra frowns at the sapling as Helen shifts it into the shade of the cottage. It’s a twig compared to the grand trees that stretch across the yard, and it’s already withered with the promise of rotten fruit. Helen brushes the dirt off her hands and catches her gaze, and she purses her lips in that same way that Lio does when she’s _thinking_.

“‘Course, it would be easier to just let it die. I’ve got plenty of other things to worry about, life knows,” she says, and nods out at the garden beyond.

“Why not, then?” Cassandra asks as she moves to join her in the shade.

“Because with the right care, you can bring back almost any plant back to life. That’s the beauty of them, I find,” Helen answers, and her eyes crinkle as she smiles.

“Others would call that necromancy,” Cassandra grins, although she knows that _some_ people would only find that more appealing. Helen raises a curious eyebrow, and Cass clears her throat. “Uh- you were saying?”

“Well, when I moved out here a very long time ago I could barely take care of myself, let alone an apple tree. It’s hard to take care of things, especially so when they’ve been damaged, but it’s worth putting the effort in. I had to believe that,” Helen confesses, and lets out a weary sigh that betrays her age. Heavy lidded eyes flicker over to meet Cassandra’s gaze, and she offers a soft smirk.

“And just as well, given that raising that daughter of mine was more work than all of these trees put together.”

“I can only imagine,” Cassandra chuckles, the sound of which summons Ilione herself as she pops her head through the window between them.

“What are you two gossips talking about?”

“You, of course,” Helen answers smoothly.

“Oh. Well, you can keep discussing how wonderful I am over lunch, if you want to come inside. I made quiche,” Lio says before retreating back inside the cottage, and Cassandra stifles a laugh as Helen rolls her eyes at her. 

“I’ll show you how to prune this thing properly after lunch, but let’s take a break for now,” she says, leaving Cassandra and the sapling behind as she heads inside.

“Do you think she was trying to tell me something?” Cassandra smirks at it, and Lio pops her head through the window again.

“Don’t tell me mom’s got you talking to plants, too now.”

“Shut up, Lio.”

“Well if you’re not in the middle of a conversation, I need you to come in and open a jar for me.”

“I never get a moment to myself in this family,” Cassandra groans as she heads inside, and Lio’s giggles float behind her.


End file.
